


Wherever You Stray, I Follow

by sumnawaz



Category: Blood and Ash Series - Jennifer L. Armentrout
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumnawaz/pseuds/sumnawaz
Summary: PoppyCas AU. A loss in Poppy's life leaves her numb and in pain, and even so, Casteel will remain by her side.
Relationships: Penellaphe Balfour/Casteel Da'Neer, Poppy Balfour/Casteel Da'Neer, Poppy/Casteel
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Wherever You Stray, I Follow

**Author's Note:**

> This is a PoppyCas AU, in which her parents are the king and queen of Solis. There's no Ascended or Craven or anything like that; just a good ole' fashion AU! All characters belong to Jennifer L. Armentrout.

She wasn’t prepared to force the smile onto her face for the entire night, despite knowing it was coming for days—weeks, even. Princess Penellaphe stood in front of the mirror in her chambers, the emerald green and gold gown making her skin glow and brightening the deep red of her hair. The green of her gown made the green of her eyes pop brilliantly, her skin seemingly translucent even under the scars. Black lined her eyes and lengthened her eyelashes, red smeared her lips, and the gilded crown was a heavy weight upon her head. 

She was stunning—enough so that her beauty could hide the broken heart that lay beneath.

It was a time for celebration, a time for laughter and food and drinks and mingling. It was a celebration for _her_ , yet she was nowhere near finished mourning _him_. 

Every morning, she’d wake, and for a split moment, the world was right. During those first initial blinks of consciousness chasing away her sleep, the world greeted her brightly, welcoming her in false pretenses of peace. And then everything tilted, the world was upside down, and nausea would curdle her stomach when she was slapped in the face with the reminder that her brother was gone. Everything was bleak after that.

An endless cycle, one she’d been living through repeatedly for the past seven months. The pain made it feel as though it had been only seven seconds.

Poppy ran her hands down the shimmering skirt of her grown, bunching the fabric in her left fist while her right moved the gossamer around, just enough to find the slight to allow her hand to brush against the dagger strapped to her thigh. Only then did the tight ball in her chest loosen, even if just slightly. The weapon brought her a sense of comfort.

Ian hadn’t been assassinated, he hadn’t been killed by someone. Illness had swept through his body, severe and unforgiving, weakening his bones and body and slowly taking him away from Poppy and their parents. It had shaken the entire kingdom when their Crown Prince had been taken away from them, right before his twentieth birthday. Not even two decades lived had he been called back to the Gods.

Poppy still hadn’t forgiven them for that. It hadn’t been his time yet. Nowhere near it.

She, along with her parents, had to sit and watch as Ian slowly withered away from them. No healer, no doctor, no physician had been able to help him. Any medications provided only gave Ian a brief moment of peace from the sickness, but it always came back. No matter what they tried, their Crown Prince was dying, and acceptance had never been in their grasp until he took his last breath. Poppy had to watch her brother, older than her by only a year, become a shell of the lively, vibrant man he used to be, losing a war with his own body without being able to do anything to help him other than hold his hand. 

He’d taken his last breath five days before his twentieth birthday.

Now Poppy was meant to celebrate hers tonight, yet all she could do was think of Ian. Like always.

She tapped her fingers against the hilt of the dagger, a gift she’d received long ago from her personal guard, and took a breath. The weapon couldn’t protect her from an illness, but she couldn’t be completely helpless. Such was the life of an unexpected Crown Princess.

“You look beautiful, Poppy.”

Blinking out of her world-weary thoughts, Poppy willed away the tears she hadn’t realized had gathered in her eyes as she caught sight of Tawny, her one and only—by Poppy’s choice—Lady-in-Wait and best friend. Despite the emotions tormenting her heart, Poppy felt a smile upturn her lips at Tawny, small as it was. Truthfully, she couldn’t quite remember the last time she truly smiled.

It was probably with Ian.

“Thank you,” Poppy said, turning around. “So do you.”

And she did. Tawny’s brown skin was stunning against the baby blue of her gown, dark hair in tumbling curls over her shoulders, a diamond necklace settling delicately around her neck. “Thanks,” Tawny smiled, moving further into the room. Poppy instantly noticed the concern swimming in her dark eyes, and she couldn’t even be annoyed by it. She’d grown used to others looking at her in that way and chose to ignore it. “Are you ready? They’re waiting for you.”

 _It’s not like I have a choice_. The words threatened to slip past her lips, but Poppy reined them in, instead opting for a nod and a simple, “I’m ready.”

Outside of her chambers stood Vikter, Poppy’s personal Royal Guard. He was dressed in his formal uniform, sword sheathed to his side as he stood tall, gaze instantly finding her as she emerged from her rooms. He smiled at her, warm and fatherly. “Both of you look lovely.”

Poppy murmured her thanks as Tawny giggled hers, and soon Vikter was escorting the two of them through the palace halls towards the grand ballroom where her arrival was expected. Each step towards the party felt heavier than the last, but Poppy kept moving forward. She had promised her parents she could do this, had promised that she was fine. She didn’t want to disappoint them.

Poppy recalled the tears in her mother’s eyes as she’d brought up the idea of a celebration for Poppy’s birthday—an important one, seeing as she turned twenty. The same age her brother hadn’t been able to turn before his death. The idea of a party had nearly nauseated Poppy; how could she celebrate when Ian wasn’t here anymore?

And then her mother had held her hands, lips trembling as she said to Poppy, “The kingdom will forever mourn your brother, but we mustn’t forget to celebrate you.”

Her parents had lost one child. How could Poppy fault them for wanting to honor her? Even if it meant putting on a smile that pained her to bring, even if it meant appearing as if a piece of her wasn’t missing. She was the only child left of the King and Queen of Solis. She was the Crown Princess. She had a duty to her parents, to her people. Their needs came above her own heartache. That’s what it meant to be a princess, right?

Poppy swallowed the lump that tightened in the middle of her throat as the ballroom came into view. She pursed her lips, as if testing the muscles around her mouth. 

She could put on a show. Just for one night.

*****

The gazes were heavy on her, weighing upon her skin and sinking deep into her bones. She could pick up on the tentative concern others offered her behind polite conversations and well wishes, but Poppy pretended, as always, she didn’t see. She smiled and sipped at her wine and made conversations despite wanting nothing more than to find solace in the library, or the gardens, or her bedchambers. But the music played and mixed with the chatter of the ballroom, there were people dancing and drinking and having a good time, pushing past the grief that had fallen over the kingdom less than a year ago.

Everyone was trying. Everyone was moving forward. It wasn’t so easy for her.

Sometimes she wished it was. But she knew she would never stop missing Ian.

Her gaze wandered over to the large windows on one side of the wall, looking out into the palace gardens. And under the dark night sky outside, lit by the lanterns lining the pathways through the gardens, Poppy was sure she saw the ghosts of herself and Ian, young and free and running past the rose bushes as their laughter followed them along. She saw the ghosts of them walking at a more leisurely pace as they grew up, chatting away whenever they could, whenever they weren’t busy with the duties of young royals.

The gardens were the residence of ghosts now, and yet, Poppy still wanted to wander through, if not just for a glimpse of the brother she lost.

“. . . a lovely idea, don’t you think so, Your Highness?”

Poppy blinked herself back into the present, the music no longer muffled behind the clouds of her thoughts as she looked to the peers she was surrounded by. Three pairs of eyes were on her, two men and a woman, all expectantly waiting for a response to a question Poppy had completely missed.

Her cheeks began warming in embarrassment, in shame for being ignorant of what was happening around her and letting herself get lost in her grief once again. Yet before she could even think of a way to get herself out of the situation, someone else did it for her.

“Sounds delightful, but I’m afraid I’ll have to steal the princess away for a moment.”

The voice was deep and smooth and startlingly familiar, with enough charm and authority that had those Poppy stood with straighten their backs and immediately nod along, offering smiles before drifting away. And Poppy understood why instantly when she registered the warm hand on the small of her back, the heat spreading through her skin as the man who’d come to save her from embarrassment moved to stand before her.

And though her heart was perpetually heavy and tired, it still found the energy, somewhere within its weary depths, to do a leap at the sight of Prince Casteel Da’Neer.

His strong, powerful body towered over hers as he stood in front of her, and Poppy had almost forgotten the way she had to tilt her head back just so to be able to meet his gaze. But despite the fact that she could feel the eyes of the room on her—though, that wasn’t anything new, between the scars on her face and her royal status—Poppy couldn’t help the way her own eyes savored what she saw as her gaze lifted, following the length of his body. 

Declaring that Casteel was a handsome man would be a gross exaggeration. Although he was the prince of a neighboring kingdom, all of the lands have heard of his beauty, likening him to the very Gods they worship with his chiseled features. An angular jaw, straight nose, amber eyes, and dark hair together made him a sight to be revered. Even when they were children, Poppy had always found her gaze lingering on him for a moment too long—too long to be deemed appropriate. And when they grew up. . . A moment too long to be deemed innocent.

Long enough for anyone who truly looked to recognize how she truly felt about the neighboring prince.

Her green eyes finally met his amber ones, and the air rushed out of Poppy’s lungs as the intensity of Casteel’s gaze bore into her. He always did that—stared at her as if she held the answers to every question he ever asked. And not in the way her people looked at her, like the newfound future ruler of Solis, like they sought her guidance. 

Casteel looked at her as if he saw into her very soul—and cherished every bit of it.

And Poppy. . . She felt the same. 

Or, at least, she did before her brother took with him the biggest piece of her heart. 

She wondered if she could even _feel_ at all. 

With Casteel in front of her, his touch warming her skin and gaze fluttering her aching heart back to life, maybe she’d find out soon enough.

“Sorry for the interruption; it seemed like you could use a subtle rescuing,” Casteel spoke, the smooth drawl of his voice melting upon her like decadent chocolate. A tendril of dark hair fell across his forehead and Poppy’s fingers itched to brush the curl back.

Not in the mood to make a fool of herself—not that she ever could in front of Casteel—Poppy gently cleared her throat, unsure if she wanted to revel in or push away the warmth his stare brought her. “Thank you for that,” she replied genuinely. Her lips pressed together, bringing her gaze to the gold embroidery of his sleek black tunic. “It would be embarrassing if I was presumed to be ignorant of when others were speaking to me.”

Her gaze involuntarily flickered up when she finished speaking, her words sounding too formal to her own ears, and the tightness returned to Poppy’s throat when she saw the softening of Casteel’s features. He dipped his chin, voice low as he told her, “No one would fault you for being distracted.”

Others moved around them, their lulling conversations and laughter creating a cacophony with the music that Poppy didn’t entirely find unpleasant. Indeed, the sounds around them seemed to slip away, and as they stood near the glass wall, not entirely off on the side but not in the middle of the room either, even the ghosts of the palace gardens beyond the glass didn’t seem to call for her attention. At least not for now.

A corner of Poppy’s lips tilted up, wry and self-deprecating, a look she didn’t like on herself for a princess should never appear that way. But she hadn’t felt like a princess in a long time—she was a mourning sister. Gaze locked on his, she said, “Some people would say seven months is more than enough time to grieve.”

At least, that’s what some of the gossip going around was. Poppy had half a mind to use her dagger on those insensitive gossips. Not very princess-like, but it was very _her_. Even if she hadn’t felt like herself in a long time. 

Upon hearing her words, Poppy noted the darkening of Casteel’s eyes, the hardening of his jaw as he said firmly, “Those people don’t know what it’s like to lose someone they love, so their words mean nothing.” He took a step towards her, the pine scent of him so familiar, in the best way, and his presence threatened to wrap her up, teased the disappearance of everyone around them until it was just her with him. 

“But Poppy—” The way he said her name, a nickname only those closest to her were privy to, had her taking in a deep breath, especially when she saw the tender way his gaze caressed her. Casteel’s voice was low as he said, “You’re allowed to grieve your brother _and_ celebrate yourself at the same time.” Against the gossamer of the skirt of her gown, she felt Casteel’s hand brush against hers, just barely linking their pinkies together, yet even the smallest touch shot electricity up her arm. “I’m sure Ian would want you to.”

Before she could help herself, Poppy responded sharply, “I’d rather Ian be here to tell me what he wants himself.” And though her words were harsh, they were laden with pain she couldn’t hide. Not from Casteel.

And he took it in stride. He never was one to back down from her, or her from him. It was one of her favorite things about him, among many. “I know,” he returned. He tilted his head slightly. “I also know he’d want you to eat something, given that all you’ve been doing is pretending to be interested in conversations and nursing the same glass of wine.” Something danced in his golden eyes. “You haven’t even touched the chocolate covered strawberries. You’ll love them.”

A small breath escaped from Poppy, gaze dropping briefly to the arm he offered her, strong and capable and willing to be a source of support for her. Finding an ounce of lightheartedness, Poppy asked, “Keeping an eye on me, are you?”

His smile was a flash, wicked in its display of his dimple. Damnably breathtaking. Poppy slowly linked her arm with his, finding reassurance in the way he brought her closer as he said, “As if I’d have them on anyone else.”

*****

She looked tired. Beautiful, breathtaking, his favorite godsdamn sight in the entire world—but tired. Casteel couldn’t keep his gaze away from her as he watched her bite into the chocolate covered strawberry. The two of them sat at the table for himself, his brother, and his friends—members of his family’s court—that were in attendance for Poppy’s birthday, though the table remained empty save for the two of them. She was meant to sit with her own parents, but that table remained empty as the King and Queen entertained their many guests in attendance for their daughter.

And so Casteel sat back in the chair, one arm atop the table as his fingers gently tapped along, watching as Poppy enjoyed her favorite dessert. Nobody disturbed her as she ate—not that they would disrupt the first thing their princess seemed to be enjoying in months in the first place, nor would Casteel let them. 

He loathed that she was hurting, hated seeing the pain that dulled her once vibrant green eyes and wanted nothing more than to take heartache away. Casteel wasn’t a man who necessarily craved power, but he was someone who despised feeling useless when it came to helping those he cared about. And for Poppy. . .

For Poppy, Casteel would burn the fucking world if she asked him to. It was something he had accepted long ago, accepted with the love he had for her. And while he’s been in fights—dealt with broken bones and deep cuts—none of those things seared him with pain the way watching the woman he loved carry an ache so deep within her did. Nothing made him feel as useless as he did the past few months in being unable to help her in any way.

She leaned back in her seat after she finished eating, a content sigh escaping as she dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Those were. . . So good,” Poppy admitted, almost reluctantly so, as if it was wrong of her to be able to enjoy something. Casteel hated that she felt that way.

His lips kicked up when he caught the slight pinkening of her cheeks. Her gaze wandered, and Casteel caught her looking at those in the middle of the ballroom, dancing to the music playing, a swirl of skirts and coats. Casteel’s eyes trailed over every feature of her face, took in the look in her green eyes and could easily read the longing. And Casteel could never pinpoint when exactly he was able to read Poppy like his favorite book, but he instantly recognized the yearning in her eyes. The desire to indulge in something, yet the grief and guilt holding her back from doing so. Like she’d forgotten how to _live_.

So Casteel leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he tilted his head and asked, “Would you like to dance?”

Poppy looked at him, something flaring in her eyes, just for a second, before she pursed her lips. She looked towards those dancing, lips parting a little. Poppy cleared her throat, voice quiet as she began, “I—You don’t have to—”

Casteel stood, Poppy’s head tilting to take him in at his full height, as he offered a hand with a small, encouraging smirk. “I’ve never done anything I don’t want to do,” he told her, amber eyes locked with her green. “And I would be honored if you allowed me a dance, Poppy.”

Her name was sweet on his tongue, almost as sweet as the relief he felt sweep through him when Poppy, after a moment’s worth of inner debate, placed her hand in his and stood. Casteel knew she was just as aware of the eyes on them as he was as they made their way to the center of the room, others making their way for them, until they were in the middle and Casteel’s free hand found the small of her back and he pulled her close, her own hand finding home on his shoulder.

They moved with the music and Casteel savored the lack of space between them. They hadn’t been this close in. . . It had been too long. Their relationship had always been warm, a childhood friendship—thanks to their kingdoms’ centuries long alliance and their parents’ strong friendship—that tentatively grew deeper and deeper as they grew up. Casteel was only two years older than Poppy, but even as children, he never saw her as anything other than an equal. His friend.

And the more they grew up, the deeper their relationship got. Casteel always enjoyed their visits to Solis, always looked forward to when Poppy would be coming to Atlantia. Eventually, both of their visits began consisting of the two of them slipping away from their parents, from court, from any prying eyes. They’d find solace beneath hidden alcoves and in the maze of the palace gardens and between the aisles of palace libraries, needing nothing and no one except the other’s company.

Eyes would meet across rooms, fingers would brush as they passed each other, and secretive smiles that would speak a thousand words, and no one would really be the wiser. And it wasn’t as though they necessarily had to keep their blossoming relationship a secret—they just reveled in their privacy, which they didn’t get much of because of their status. It was hard, though, at times, because Casteel wanted nothing more than to climb to the highest point of the palace and tell the world he was in love with the Solis princess. That she was who he was going to marry, eventually, at the end of it all. 

The rest of his life was hers. Even when she kept herself away.

And who could blame her for that? The last time Casteel had seen Poppy, it was days after Ian’s funeral. His heart shattered for the friend he lost, and what was left of it churned to dust at the sight of Poppy, distraught and broken and closing in on herself. He had stayed in Solis after the funeral, wanting nothing more than to be there for her, to help her in any way he could despite not knowing what the hell he could do. But Poppy. . . She wanted to see nothing and no one. Grief consumed her, the loss of her brother a pain Casteel desperately wanted to protect her from, but was unable to because she didn’t want to see him, either.

He tried. Gods, for months he tried to see her. He’d find any and every excuse to travel to Solis, to catch a glimpse of her. But it never fucking worked. Either he’d get to Solis and Poppy wouldn’t be found anywhere, or his parents and court advisors would keep him from traveling, reasoning that she needed space, needed time to mourn. He understood that, of course he did, but no one’s word meant anything to him unless he heard it from Poppy herself. And he finally did, in the form of a letter, three months after Ian’s death.

He remembered every word of it. He’d read it, over and over again, taking in the delicate curve of her handwriting, the words she’d written for him.

_Casteel,_

_I know you’ve been trying to see me, to make sure I’m okay. I can’t lie to you—I’m not. Every day, I miss Ian, and there are more days where I can’t breathe because of the grief than there aren’t. But there isn’t anything anyone can do to help. And I know you want to help. I need you to know I appreciate it and you, and am very grateful. I just need some time alone. For how long, I don’t know. The world doesn’t make sense without my brother and I need to be able to figure it out on my own. I’m sorry for keeping my distance. You deserve more than that, more than just a letter._

_I’m staying at my family’s cabin in the north for a little while. I need space from everything. But I don’t want you to worry, though I know you will anyway. I wish you wouldn’t. I’m safe, that I can promise you. And I will see you soon, if you still want me to. I’ll understand if you don’t after the way I’ve treated you._

_You’re a good man, Cas. Always have been. You deserve more than what I’ve given you lately._

_But I do hope to see you soon._

_Yours,_

_Poppy._

Every word, burned into his mind, hearing it in her voice and his chest tightening every time he thought that she believed he wouldn’t want anything to do with her. There was no timeline in which Casteel wouldn’t want Poppy, and it hurt that she didn’t know that.

“I’ve missed you.”

The words slipped past him without a thought, though Casteel didn’t regret them. He watched Poppy’s gaze flicker up to him, felt her take in a deep breath as they swayed to the music. There was a softening in her gaze, their fingers linked together, and Casteel’s chest tightened at the small curve of her lips. He didn’t think she’d respond until Poppy squeezed their joined hands and she murmured her quiet confession, “I missed you, too.”

He smiled as Poppy continued, “I’m sorry for not—”

“Stop, Poppy,” Casteel cut in with a shake of his head, eyebrows furrowing together slightly. He lowered his head slightly to maintain eye contact, voice firm as he said, “There is nothing you need to apologize for.” Tone softening, he let out a quiet breath. “I understand that you needed time. I know it wasn’t personal—you lost someone. There’s no timeline for how long you get to mourn, nor is there any right way to do it. You have to figure out what’s best for you, and that’s what you did.”

Poppy pressed her lips together, just barely stopping her chin from trembling as she looked away. There was a sheen to her eyes, Casteel realized with a twist in his stomach, as she let out a weak laugh. “It’s not the happiest of conversations to have on my birthday, is it?”

“It is,” Casteel agreed with a nod, feeling the skirt of her gown brush against his legs with every move they made. “But your birthday is about celebrating your life, which went through a significant change.” His smile was sad, one she mirrored. “It would be strange if we _didn’t_ talk about it.”

Taking a breath, Poppy tilted her chin back to look at him, tilting her head. He watched as her gaze ran over his face, reading him, and Casteel let her. She wasn’t ever someone he hid away from. “You’re the only one who doesn’t shy away from it,” Poppy said with a sigh. They weren’t dancing as much as swaying now, more inclined to keep their bodies close than to actually dance. “Not that I want to talk to anyone about it, but—” She shrugged. “I can tell everyone’s walking on eggshells, no one wants to say the wrong thing. Even if I wanted to talk about it with others, it didn’t feel like I could.” Their eyes locked. “But with you, I can.”

Casteel’s heart jumped, squeezing her hand in return. “You know I’m here for you, princess.”

She leaned in until her cheek rested against his chest as they gently swayed, and Casteel savored the soft press of her body against his, the intoxicating scent of her wrapping around him. He rested his chin atop her head, uncaring of the eyes that were on them, as she whispered, “I know.”

That’s all he could ask for.

*****

Late at night, Poppy couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t surprising, given that she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in a long time. But instead of laying in bed and staring absently at the ceiling or losing herself to memories that were both fond and painful, she got up. It was the middle of the night, but she changed out of her night gown and into leggings and a sweater, before slipping on her dagger and shoes and wandering out of her chambers.

The palace halls were quiet, silenced by everyone’s slumber, as she made her way towards the doors that led to the gardens. Guards would be stationed here and there, and despite her princess status, Poppy knew how to expertly wield her dagger and how to throw a punch. Her parents were firm believers in a princess getting the same kind of training a prince would. She was grateful for it.

When she stood on the threshold between the hall and the gardens, Poppy paused. Were there ghosts moving around, waiting for her arrival? Did she want to face them?

She walked under the cloudless sky, following the path paved in the gardens, illuminated by the moon, stars, and lanterns. It wasn’t cold out, her sweater and leggings enough to keep her warm, as she made her way down, walking along trees whose leaves rustled in the subtle breeze. It cooled her skin, made the tendrils of her hair dance as she continued.

Between the trees and beyond the bushes, Poppy could swear she saw wisps of memories flying by, ghostly giggles of her younger self, hearty chuckles of a younger Ian, wafting in the air and tricking her into a brief belief of it being reality. It wasn’t as though Poppy hadn’t been to the gardens before today; she’d spent a couple of months in Masadonia at her family’s retreat, and when she returned, she often took walks in the gardens with Tawny. But now that she thought about it, she never wandered around during the night—especially this late at night. 

It brought her a strange sense of peace.

Slowly, Poppy approached the large willow tree towards the back of the gardens, a towering, weeping willow that Poppy loved. There was a bench beneath it, hidden under the drooping branches and leaves, and Poppy settled down with a sigh. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, enjoying the whispers of the leaves. The party for her birthday had tired her out, draining her of energy as she had to keep up the appearances of a smiling princess. It had been a lot more exhausting than she had anticipated. The crown had weighed more heavily tonight than any other.

Poppy wasn’t sure for how long she sat by herself under the willow, but as her eyes remained closed, she became acutely aware of another presence. But she stayed quiet, eyes stayed shut, because the one who was approaching her wasn’t ever a threat. If anything, it was a presence she missed. A lot.

“Am I interrupting?”

She opened her eyes, gaze immediately landing on Casteel standing before her, and the corners of her lips lifted ever so slightly. He wasn’t due to leave Solis until the morning and he’d have a long journey ahead of him—he should be getting sleep. And yet Poppy wanted him to be right there.

“Not at all,” Poppy said, gaze following his tall form ducking towards her, the leaves and vines brushing against him until he settled on the bench next to her. He was in his black sleep pants and a white shirt, the thin material doing nothing to hide the lean muscles Poppy’s hands yearned to become reacquainted with. His dark hair was tousled atop his head, looking perfect to tangle her fingers in. “How did you know I was out here?”

Casteel looked around, head tilting back as Poppy followed the sharp line of his jaw as his gaze wandered. A small smile, barely hinting at a dimple, graced his lips. “Isn’t this our spot?” he mused, looking back at her with a quirk of his eyebrow. He leaned back, hands gripping his knees before unabashedly drinking her in. He stared at her without shame, the shift of his eyes showing her that he was taking in every bit of her. Poppy’s chest constricted; he looked at her like that every time his gaze found her, but it wasn’t something Poppy believed she’d ever get used to. “I couldn’t sleep. Not when you were so close but out of sight.”

He could’ve easily sought her out in her chambers, they both knew that. But it spoke to Casteel’s respect for her to allow her the privacy and comfort of her own bedrooms without the sanctity of them being disturbed. Following her out into the gardens was safe, it gave Poppy the room to have her space.

But as she looked at him, sitting on the opposite end of the bench despite both of them knowing he wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them, Poppy decided, in that split moment, she’d had enough.

The peace of the night, the absence of her brother’s ghost, allowed Poppy some reprieve, and gave her the opportunity to delve into thoughts that weren’t so warped by grief. For too long had she kept away from Casteel—not because he’d done something wrong or because she wanted to, but because everything _hurt_ and she was in no state to be around him or anyone. And maybe because a small part of her hadn’t wanted him to see her so broken, so lost, even if the logical part of her knew Casteel wouldn’t care. If anything, he would drop everything to be there for her. And, Gods, he had done that, hadn’t he? Multiple times, from what she knew. He was too good. 

He was just sitting there next to her, watching her, and her long tired heart felt more lively than it ever did before. She could feel it fluttering within her chest, much like it always did when she was in his presence. She could feel the way her body desired to be close to his, like a magnet seeking its other half. She longed to touch him again, the dance they took part in during her birthday celebration not nearly enough.

Poppy looked at him; slivers of light from the lanterns and the moon seeping through the weeping willow and washing over him, illuminating the gold of his eyes and the softness of his lips, shadowing his sharp features, and Poppy’s breath stuttered. How had she stayed away from him for so long? _Why_ had she?

Because Ian was gone. Because her brother couldn’t enjoy the comforting things such as a loved one’s touch nor could he appreciate their smile. Because Ian was dead long before he could have truly lived his life, and in his death, Poppy’s life seemed to have come to an end, too.

But Ian. . . He wouldn’t want that for her. She knew that, with every fiber of her being. She was just struggling to believe it.

The words were spilling before she could stop herself. “I look at you, and I can’t breathe.” Casteel’s eyes flashed as her soft voice drifted in the privacy of the willow. She played with her fingers in her lap as she whispered her confession. “And I don’t understand how even in that, you make me feel more alive than I have for months.”

There was confusion in his eyes, and a desperate need to understand. “I haven’t done anything.” The wavering in Casteel’s voice twisted Poppy’s chest, knowing her decision in putting all this space between them, putting a, hopefully temporary, pause in whatever they had between them was what fueled Casteel’s desperation. This prince—charming and arrogant and smooth—was so vulnerable in front of her, only for her. Poppy never took it for granted. Casteel shifted, like he wanted to move closer, but stopped himself as his throat worked. “I wish I could’ve—”

She hated that he had to stop himself from reaching for her, and Poppy knew it was her doing. And so she reached forward, grasping his hand in hers, and Casteel didn’t hesitate in tightening his grip as his body shifted to face hers. “You gave me what I needed at the time,” Poppy told him before her eyebrows furrowed, gaze dropping. “Or, at least, what I thought I needed. You haven’t done anything wrong, Cas.”

The use of his nickname had an instant effect, his broad shoulders relaxing as his thumb stroked the back of her hand. His gaze never left hers, their knees pressed together as their bodies faced each other. “What you thought you needed?” he repeated curiously, cautiously. “What do you mean by that?”

Poppy dropped her head, gaze locked on their joined hands, on the way his large one easily enveloped her smaller one. Her lips parted to take in a breath, pausing as silence took over them while she tried to gather her thoughts. “I thought I needed. . . Space. Needed to deal with Ian’s death by myself. Being around everyone else somehow—” She shook her head, frowning at herself as she spoke aloud her thought process, for the first time finding it utterly ridiculous. “—it only reminded me that Ian _wasn’t_ here. And it sounds so stupid to close myself off from everyone—from _you_ —but at the time, I don’t know, it made sense to me.” 

Her gaze lifted, throat working as her eyes locked with Casteel’s melted gold. “But with you here,” she paused to squeeze his hands, feeling her eyes burn as the corners of her lips tilted. Touching him felt real, warm, like everything she needed. “I realize I was only letting myself drown in my grief. And I know Ian wouldn’t want that for me.” She offered a single shrug. “I don’t want that for myself, either.” 

Clarity. That’s what she had needed, and she had gotten that the moment she saw Casteel again for the first time in so long. Seeing him again. . . _He_ served as a reminder that all love wasn’t lost to her, despite it feeling as such following Ian’s death, despite her still having her parents and Tawny and Vikter. It wasn’t as though they weren’t enough—it was just that Ian’s loss had thrown Poppy so deep into her grief that it was a struggle to find her way out.

She needed the time to mourn, she knew, but Poppy could admit that she needed help to dig her way out of her heartache. She could miss Ian—and she would, for the rest of her life—but still live her life all the same. He would want that for her, wouldn’t he?

She wanted it, too.

“Poppy,” Casteel breathed, and her name was a prayer on his lips, one that had her squeezing her eyes shut as a shudder threatened to tremble her body. He’d shifted closer, the warmth of his body seeping into her bones, her heart stuttering when his free hand cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed along the scars, ones he’d kissed many times. “No one can blame you for the way you chose to deal with your grief.” His words were soft, but a fierce protectiveness coated his voice, too. Casteel rested his forehead against hers and though Poppy’s eyes remained closed, she melted into him, into the safety of his familiar touch. “But know that you don’t have to be alone in this. Let me be there for you. I can’t take away your pain, but I will try to ease it in any way I can. Allow me that.” 

The smooth timber of his voice carried that undertone of urgency, and Poppy heard just how much he wanted to do this, to be there for her. It did something to her heart; lifted some of the weight that made it hard to breathe, spread warmth through her chest at the notion that Casteel was willing to do whatever he could for the sake of helping her. Neither of them were sure how he would, but Poppy knew, without a doubt, if he was with her, life would be just a little bit easier to walk through.

She’d already lost one man she loved. She refused to keep herself away from the one she was _in_ love with.

Poppy wasn’t sure words could appropriately tell Casteel what she wanted, how she felt, so she did the next best thing. With a slight tilt of her head, Poppy pressed her lips to Casteel’s, finding them as naturally as breathing. His mouth was soft, tender, the kiss tentative and familiar and new as they melted into that first touch almost immediately. It was like coming home, like taking a breath of fresh air, like everything good and right in the world that hadn’t been so before this moment. And maybe _everything_ wasn’t okay, but it damn near felt like it as Casteel pulled her closer, the slow kiss deepening as he tugged her to his lap.

Her heart felt like it could burst out of her chest at any moment, skin blazing everywhere Casteel touched, even if it was through her clothes, as her arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close. He tasted like mint and smelled like pine and felt like home, and Poppy knew that no matter what happened, she wouldn’t be able to stay away from him. She didn’t _want_ to. For months, he waited for her, never pushing, never demanding, always there to help her if she needed it, even if he lived in another kingdom. 

“Stay,” Poppy whispered against his lips, her own mouth tingling from his dizzying kisses. She wondered if he could feel her thundering heart as he held her close, his arms around her waist, his nose brushing against hers. “Can you stay in Solis? At least for a little while?”

Casteel’s arms were tight around her, like he was afraid if he let her go, she would disappear. Never again. His hair was soft in her fingers as Casteel opened his eyes, liquid honey meeting brilliant emeralds, their soft breaths echoing under the willow. “I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me, princess,” Casteel said, voice rough with honesty.

Poppy smiled then, real and genuine for the first time in so long, and she noted the way his eyes shuttered at the sight of it. A small laugh escaped her as well, weak from its long absence, but with him, she knew it’d be the first of many. She leaned back just a little, looking at him with that smile, a teasing tone slipping into her voice as she quietly asked, “What if I asked you to stay forever?”

Though the small smirk appeared, his eyes and voice were completely serious, one hand sliding up to tangle in her red hair as he held her and answered, “Then I’d have someone send the rest of my belongings from Atlantia.”

Poppy let out a breath, the honesty in his words knocking the air from her lungs yet making her feel more alive than she had in so long. It was jolting, how Casteel could make her feel so much when, for so long, she’d felt nothing but a numbing pain. The ache of losing her brother would never subside, Poppy knew—she wasn’t naive enough to believe otherwise—but she could learn to live with it. And live for Ian. She could live life as freely as he did, she could take the throne that was meant for him and rule Solis the way they would both want, and there was no doubt that there would be guilt for it all, Poppy would get through it. 

For Ian. For herself. With Casteel.

She looked at him, at the determination in his eyes, softened by what he felt for her, and despite the tears in her eyes, Poppy grinned. Wide and happy for the first time in months. Casteel looked at her, drank in the sight of her smile like a man starved for it, unable to help the grin from dancing on his own face, allowing his dimples to appear. She’d missed those as much as she’d missed him.

Poppy kissed him once more, inhaling sharply as if the meeting of their lips was the first time. They held on tightly, their arms a haven under the safety of the willow, and the peace Casteel brought her was one she welcomed without hesitation.

The ghosts in the gardens didn’t haunt her anymore.


End file.
